


You Want To Learn?

by OneBoringPerson



Category: Terminator (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Mild Spoilers, Movie: Terminator 2: Judgment Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28138611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneBoringPerson/pseuds/OneBoringPerson
Summary: The reader took part in the events of Terminator 2 alongside John, Uncle Bob and Sarah, and now has to cope and adjust with the new living style that they have adopted, particularly in light of taking in a new member of the group. The T-1000 was never destroyed and is being kept by them for research and potential help, but no one really gets along with him, except for the reader, who grows close with him.This is basically just a bunch of little oneshots that correlate with each other, and don't really have a particular storyline. It's my first time uploading anything onto this platform, so if it's a bit messy at first, I apologise.
Relationships: T-1000/reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: some mention of violence

"Can you stop scowling at me for once, please? It's not my fault you're here!" I finally snap, throwing the book in my hands to the floor as I turn in my seat to look back at Austin, the T-1000 I've been left to monitor whilst Sarah, John and Uncle Bob (the T-800) go out to buy supplies from the nearest supermarket. Four hours away. I'd argued and argued with Sarah about John's decision to leave me here, pointing out that Austin and I get along about as well as fire and water do, and that it could be dangerous, but they'd only told me that Uncle Bob needs to learn how to behave more humane, and the only way he'll do that is by being around more people. In frustration, I'd finally given in, taking a seat across the room from the subdued terminator, trying to ignore the critical glower it fixed me with almost instantly. None of us have managed to get any other expression out of it, or anything more than scathing data analysis since we drew him back out of the molten steel, Uncle Bob having deemed it more beneficial to pull him from his certain demise, so that we can study him, and re-condition him to a better way of functioning. Unfortunately, however, after a good three months of trying, the polyalloy terminator has not responded to any of our attempts - not that I've tried, personally - and has had to be kept compromised. Every so often, it looks over at the door, where the reason for its sedated state has left through, a good five hours ago: Uncle Bob worked out that the polyalloy that the T-1000 is configured of can be withdrawn from it and stored in his own body, meaning that the superior model is kept weaker than it would be with the entirety of its being.

Even now, his glare is slightly lidded, his body slouched on the chair it is sat on. We soon found out that he wouldn't fight without his polyalloy, as the essence we took was part of its most vulnerable stores, meaning it struggles to function without them. This means that he can then be left mostly unrestrained, though he is still kept apart from everyone else. At the sound of my voice, his brow furrows again, his mimicked muscles tensing.

"If looks could kill, eh." I sigh to myself, getting up and stretching out my body, going to one of the motorcycles we have lined up against the wall, wheeling it out into the middle of the room, going back to grab a toolkit once I've propped it up. Dropping the box loudly, I roll up my sleeves and switch on a work light standing nearby, pulling out a few tools as I get to work on the vehicle, once again ignoring the terminator a few feet away, missing as he watches me closely, unaware of the twitching of his sensory processors. I work in silence for an hour or so, biting my lip as I tinker with the engine, which had been causing problems for weeks, but which neither Uncle Bob, nor Sarah will allow me to fix up, despite the fact that it was me who taught John how to fix his own bike. This fact always irritated me, especially given the sudden change in dynamics between John and I; before everything went wrong, we had a relationship similar to siblings, my older status allowing for a tighter bond, given that he often confided in me and treated me as the more responsible one out of us. I taught him a lot, like fixing up his bike, how to escape the cops if they ever came knocking, and how to look after himself without his mother. He told me everything that Sarah told him, and I had always believed him, meaning I was the best company for him to take along when the T-1000 came round to kill him. Since that fateful night in the steel mill, however, our relationship has become strained.

Growling to myself, I throw down the tool in my hand as a part springs back onto my fingers, cracking painfully against them. Cursing, I stand up and back away from the motorbike, inspecting my hand carefully as I go to wash it under the tap a little way away, wincing as the digits start to throb. Finishing up, I rub at the skin as I return to the bike, looking across at the T-1000, whose scowl has become less poisonous than usual.

"Don't suppose you know how to fix a motorcycle engine?" I question Austin half-heartedly, examining the bike itself without looking over at him.

"I do." He responds, voice smooth and calm, betraying no emotion.

Frowning, I look up at him, shocked that he said anything at all, considering his stoic silence from the last few months.

"You...sorry, you say you do?" I stutter out, still trying to process his new activity.

"Yes." 

Hesitantly, I turn to face him properly.

"Can...can you help me?" I ask, somewhat worried as to what will come of this.

"Yes."

The look on his face gives it away almost instantly.

"...But you won't." I roll my eyes, finding a grease rag nearby which I start using to clean the parts of the bike I have fixed up.

I glance back at Austin, and I swear that, if he were human, he'd have smirked at me.


	2. Ask Him.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit of a filler, really. I promise it gets better than this!

I sigh loudly as I collapse against the wall, dropping to the floor beside my makeshift bed, the bowl of what I'm assuming is soup held precariously between my legs, the watery liquid slopping around in its container. At the sound of my voice, the two Terminators in the room look round, Uncle Bob quickly dismissing the noise as irrelevant, Austin keeping his hard eyes trained on me as he watches me stir the unappealing food around a little, before I take a mouthful, grimacing at the bike taste. His gaze never leaves me as I force down the soup, trying my hardest not to throw it back up again. Stolidly, I meet his stare and hold it for a moment, looking away again when John pulls out a chair a little way away, the metal scraping loudly on the warehouse floor as he drags it into position by a nearby table, the teen moving a couple of rifles out of the way as he places his bowl down in their place. In doing so, he notices that Austin is staring at me, causing one of his eyebrows to lift in confusion.

"Why's he watching you like that?" John asks, looking between the T-1000 and I.

I shrug dismissively, swallowing my mouthful of food before replying.

"I don't know. Ask him." 

The T-1000 doesn't react at all to the conversation, his eyes staying fixed on me, even when Uncle Bob moves closer to him, the presence of his essence usually creating some form of reaction. This time, however, he remains silent and still.

John turns to the T-800.

"Is he in standby mode or something?" He queries, clearly still confused.

"Negative. The T-1000 is not capable of entering standby mode." The cyborg responds, picking up a nearby minigun to check it's ammo and functioning ability.

"Really? What does it do when it's not in use, then?" The teen glances back at the terminator in question.

"The T-1000 will run beneficial tasks that will contribute to the success of its primary mission. In this case, it is creating detailed files on the humans present that it does not yet recognise. As (Y/n) is the only person it has not got detailed files on, it has made her its primary focus." The T-800 responds, before taking the gun and heading to the door.

"Where are you going?" John frowns, getting up as if to follow.

"I am going to fix this firearm in the workshop. It requires more tools that are not yet in this space."

"Ooh, can I come?" 

"Affirmative." 

John rolls his eyes at the cyborg's use of language, but hops up and leaves his soup behind, running out after his protector without a second glance at me, leaving the T-1000 and I alone together again. Leaning my head back against the wall, I groan and put aside the bowl, rubbing my temples in frustration.

"The T-800 is incorrect." Austin's voice suddenly cuts through the silence, his tone sounding vaguely irritated at the other machine's misconception.

Confused and in shock that he's actually talking to me, I look over at him, frowning a little.

"What do you mean?" 

"It is incorrect. I am not forming "detailed files" on the surrounding humans. I have already made them." He informs me, watching as I process this.

"You have? When?" I ask, eyeing him carefully.

"As long as I've had access to your way of life." His hands twitch, as if fighting an urge, something which I pick up on with interest.

"That's not worrying at all." I say sarcastically, half expecting the terminator to ask me to explain what I mean, "Why do your hands twitch so much?"

This time he remains silent, ignoring the question pointedly, to which I groan and roll my eyes, moving the bowl away from me as I go to lie down on the makeshift bed beside me, feeling the need to relax, even if I do still have him staring at me.


	3. Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader teaches Austin how to play chess.

After a substantial time spent looking for it, I finally manage to find the box stuffed into the old supply chest at the end of my bed, a triumphant noise escaping me as I pull it out and throw it on the mattress, swiftly replacing every item I moved back into a neat (ish) fashion. Closing the chest, I sit on the bed and pull the dusty box into my lap, brushing away some of the grime to reveal the words inscribed onto the battered card: Standard Chess Set, Complete With Board and Pieces! Smiling to myself, I take off the lid and remove the folded board from the very top, unfolding it to find that it is still in mostly good condition.

"What is that?" Austin's voice cuts through the silence again, the Terminator's tone mostly dismissive, though the slight change in pitch betrays his curiosity. 

Glancing up at him, I make eye contact before replying, watching as his head tilts to the side, the action a creepily accurate mimicry of human behaviour.

"It's my old chess board. I went back to get it before we moved out into this place," I gesture to the abandoned warehouse around us, "I've been meaning to get it out for a while, but I never did."

"Why not?" A frown has now creased his forehead, eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Because no one else knows how to play, and none of them are willing to learn." I do my best to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but it fails, the T-1000 easily picking up on it, though he chooses not to question me about it.

In the past few weeks, Austin has started speaking more, becoming more involved (only minorly) in everyday life, but his only prerogative is that he will not speak to any of the others except me. I hadn't noticed necessarily that he was talking more until he did it with John and Sarah in the room, the two of them quickly becoming interested when he suddenly interjected on a conversation, correcting me on something I said, though he quickly went silent again when they began questioning him. It was only when I then responded to him that they realised he would not speak with anyone but me, which was an odd development in itself. Since this point, Sarah has become suspicious of me, trying to keep Austin and I from conversing wherever possible, apparently concerned that I might be getting too fond of the polyalloy being, despite the fact that her own son has bonded with a cyborg of his own. Granted, Austin may have tried to kill the four of us, but as of the last few months, he has not made any more threatening movements.

Now, however, as Austin and I have been left alone together, again, we are able to talk in peace, allowing the terminator to learn and become more humane in behaviour, and making sure that I get some decent company once in a while. 

"Why are they not willing to learn?" He asks, bringing me back to the present as I go to a nearby table, laying out the board on top of it, finding each player and setting them up very carefully.

"Because they "have no time for pointless strategy games"." I quote, rolling my eyes a little at the memory.

"In what way is strategy pointless?" 

I shrug, sitting back in my chair.

"I don't know, you'd have to ask them." An idea suddenly comes to mind and I turn to face him properly, "Do you wanna learn?"

The T-1000 sits silently for a moment, debating whether or not to agree to what I'm offering, before he slowly, ever so slowly, stands up, unfolding his lithe body into its full height. Instinctual nerves kick in, my muscles tensing in preparation to fight should he decide to be hostile, my eyes fixed on him as he approaches me, expression blank. It's his first time moving from the chair in months, so his actions are slightly disjointed, but he quickly adjusts and reseats himself opposite me, back ram-rod straight, hands resting in his lap.

"I am awaiting instruction." Austin reveals, eyes watching my every move as I hesitantly go to pick up one of the pawns, beginning to explain to him the rules of the game.

Surprisingly, it takes him some time to become properly acquainted with the logistics of the game itself, his brow furrowed for a good deal of the time, each movement of the hand cautious and well thought out, the terminator clearly taking care to make sure he has a good strategy at hand. At one point, he moves a pawn using a finger he has elongated into a point, choosing not to extend his hand out, but rather to use his unique abilities instead, something that makes me laugh slightly. He looks up at me, his expression mostly blank except for the slight furrowing of his brow. Just before he can speak, however, John, Sarah and Uncle Bob walk through the door at the far end of the warehouse, the three of them having returned from whatever they were doing. At the sight of us, Sarah and John stop still, Uncle Bob only just acknowledging it as he goes to sit at the table to my right, extending an arm and pulling off his gloves.

"Wh...what are you...how..?" John splutters, astounded that the T-1000 and I seem to be having a perfectly civil game of chess, the human action seemingly far too inconceivable for the polyalloy structure to be partaking in.

"Hey, guys. Get what you need?" I respond, ignoring his initial question, due to my inability to answer it myself.

"Yeah, yeah." John still stands where he was before, transfixed by the sight of Austin and I, the latter of which hasn't looked up at them at all, apparently waiting for me to take my turn.

To my right, the T-800 has now started pulling and pushing at the pneumatic joints of his forearm, the metal sliding back and forth with some resistance, something clearly blocking the movement. I move a piece on the chessboard to a new place, before quickly looking over Uncle Bob's shoulder, determining what is wrong in seconds.

"One of the joints is fractured. You'll need to weld it back into shape for full range of movement again." I inform him, turning back to my game as he turns his face on me.

Sarah comes over hesitantly, eyeing Austin with trepidation, as if waiting for him to spring up and attack us all, gesturing for John to leave some space as he approaches the T-800.

"Why is he playing chess with you?" She demands, staring critically at me.

"Because he wanted to learn how." I shrug, watching as he takes his turn again, moving his hand properly this time.

"How do you know that?" John questions, looking at the terminator curiously.

I roll my eyes subtly, moving a piece as I go to respond.

"He told me."

John and Sarah look at each other, clearly not believing what I'm saying, yet not quite believing what they're seeing, either.

"He told you? I find that hard to believe." Sarah rolls her eyes, turning to find the makeshift shower and wash herself off. 

As she walks away, Austin looks up at me and puts a finger to his lips, the action oddly personable. Smiling, I repeat the action and go back to playing, ignoring as Uncle Bob and John continue to theorize with each other.


	4. Did He Hurt You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this came from, but enjoy 😁

Anger courses through me in rapid waves, my fists punching at the back of the T-800 as he carries me into the warehouse, my voice going hoarse from screaming and shouting at him, his grip unwavering as he takes the abuse, remaining wordless as always. John and Sarah ignore me as they climb into the car, not watching as their protective cyborg hauls the fourth of their little group away from them, my eyes narrowed into a poisonous scowl as I continue to call out to them, pleading with them until I realise it won't work, changing to yelling seething comments at them. 

Upon entering the warehouse, Austin looks up, frowning at the sound of my distress, his simulated muscles tensing as he catches sight of the inferior model carrying me inside. His eyes remain fixed on us, hands twitching as Uncle Bob throws me onto my mattress in the corner. I leap up as soon as I can, attempting to dodge past the terminator standing over me, only to be grabbed by the waist and pushed back down. Trying again, I growl angrily as I am caught once more this time being taken to a nearby chair, where he ties me down with paracord, tightening the knots until it's nearly impossible for me to get out. Wrenching at the restraints, I pull and writhe, still shouting at the machine as he turns and walks away, frustration and outrage roiling off of me like a strong electrical field, my wrists stinging now from where the rope has cut into my soft skin. Uncle Bob doesn't look around, going instead to the warehouse door, which he locks behind him, most likely using something to obstruct it from the outside.

For a few more minutes, I scream insults at the mostly empty room, my breathing ragged, my throat painfully raw now, until I fall silent again, quietly seething to myself, blood dripping from my wrists from how hard I've pulled them.

"Why have they restrained you?" Austin asks, smooth voice curious and confused somehow, though most likely only sounding like that to me, as I'm the only one who figured out the subtle changes in how he speaks.

Looking over at him, I try not snap too much, knowing it's not his fault that I'm in this position.

"They found another branch of cyberdyne that needs dealing with, so they've gone to do that. I asked to go, and they told me I couldn't. Apparently it's not safe for me, though it's safe enough for John, in their eyes." I explain tightly, cracking my neck in frustration, "After everything I've done for them, risking my life to save John's ass, helping repair Bob when he needs it, fixing up the weapons and bikes whenever they break. Why do I always get left behind?! I'm not useless!"

I drop my head to my chest, trying to suppress the tears threatening to fall.

"They hate me. They only keep me around to fix their shit." I murmur to myself, swallowing tautly.

"I am unable to comment." Austin says, though I reckon he is more than able to say something, but he won't because he's too stubborn.

"I thought as much." Still furious, I grit my teeth and manoeuvre my hands around so that I can press my thumbs against each other, applying a great deal of pressure to the left one. Biting my lip against the pain, I force them together harder, the joints protesting as they are manipulated out of their appropriate sockets, my instincts screaming at me to stop. 

"What are you-" The T-1000 starts, only to stop when I let out a strangled groan of agony, a muted pop emitting from my left thumb as I achieve my goal.

Ignoring the sharp pangs around the base of my thumb, I start pulling my hands apart from each other, wincing as the rope rubs over the sore area on my knuckles, continuing to jerk my appendages in opposing directions. After a few minutes of doing this, I manage to pull the rope off of my left wrist, drawing my injured hand into my chest almost instantly, running a finger over the crimson welts on the skin, grimacing at the sight of the deep purple discoloring around the dislocated thumb. Inhaling sharply, I take hold of the digit and force it roughly back into place, allowing a growl of pain to leave me as I stand up, flexing the joints tentatively, looking over at Austin. He stares at me emotionlessly, his hands twitching minutely, watching as I go to one of the targets we've set up for shooting practice, his brow furrowing in confusion when I even out my balance, widening my stance.

With an abrupt movement, I punch the wooden chipboard, my fist making contact with the surface painfully as the skin on my knuckles grazes, tearing a little. Gritting my teeth, I repeat the action with my other hand, starting to repetitively hit the target as I try to work out the fury still coursing through me, tears eventually starting to stream from my eyes as I give in to the emotions pushing at the forefront of my mind, having kept them mostly pent up for far too long. I continue punching the board until my fists are burning with pain, each knuckle bloodied and bruised, my fingers very close to being broken, each bone having taken quite a bit of damage from the persistent onslaught. 

Moving away from the target, I drop to the floor and hold my hands out in front of me, watching numbly as they shake uncontrollably, the skin stained crimson and violet, parts of it torn away over the more prominent bones of my fist. My head falls to my chest and i wrap my arms around myself, drawing my knees up to my chest as I try to hold back the sobs that are now clawing at my throat, my eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming pain in my hands. In this position, I am so taken up with trying to keep myself together that I don't realise Austin has stood up until he's knelt beside me, his hands still by his side, though they are now twitching uncontrollably.

Tentatively, he extends one arm and places a hand on mine, pulling it towards him as I look up, eyes wide with surprise, an irrational fear of being completely vulnerable to this machine registering dully somewhere inside me. Keeping eye contact with me, as if trying to reassure me, he holds my hand carefully in his, resting it on his open palm as he runs the fingers of his other hand over the exposed skin, each sensation a pleasant contrast to the harsh stinging of my former aggression. Dropping his gaze to what he is doing, we watch as he seems to explore the planes of my hand with his fingertips, gently brushing over each wound and bruise before turning it over so that my palm is face up. His index finger traces the lines on the skin there, circling around to run back up to the parting between my fore and index fingers, closing his fist around mine gingerly as if he were interlocking them in a reassuring way.

I shiver at his touch, not realising until now how much I needed this contact, even if it is coming from a murderous terminator, my attention entirely enthralled by the sight of his fingers moving over my skin. Every brush of the digits feels like some sensation I've been missing out on, the more humane action acting as if it is grounding me, reminding me of my own humanity and youth; reminding me that I'm not the callous older teen I've been pretending to be for months, the kid who still needs reassurance still somewhere underneath the walls I've put up.

"It is recommended that these wounds are cleaned and dressed immediately," He begins, glancing back up at me, withdrawing his hands to himself, "But it will be far more beneficial to leave them as they are, and let the other three know of your disapproval. It will convey a point much more efficiently."

I smile bitterly at him, glad that he shares the same thoughts as I do, though I am already missing his touch again, my hands itching to reach out and take his.

"Thank you." I say to him, quietly, watching as he stands.

"For what?" He frowns, cocking his head, hands twitching at his sides.

"For being understanding." I reply, knowing that he will get what I am angling at. 

He nods and steps away, going to his chair in the corner again, watching as I shuffle back to lean against the target, which I have noticed is now stained with my blood, the surface dented and splintered, now another reminder of my pain.

Hours later, the other three walk in, Sarah holding John behind her as Bob remains in front of them, his shotgun loaded and levelled, eyes scanning the warehouse cautiously for any sign of attack. When they find none, they continue into the room, looking to Austin, who simply eyes them with his usual scathing disinterest, finding the chair that Bob had tied me in empty. Initially, they are worried that I have left, but another quick check reveals that I am, in fact, sitting at the base of one of the targets, my expression sour and hateful, hands held in my lap, bloodied knuckles visible in the light from the naked bulbs hanging from the ceiling. John goes to move over to me, but Sarah holds him back, gesturing with her head at the mangled target, eyes widening minutely at the sight of the dried blood.

"What happened? Did he attack you?" John questions, concern clouding his tone, though whether it is for my wellbeing or in regards to the possible threat of having an active, aggressive terminator sat a few feet away is unclear.

Laughing dryly, I haul myself to my feet and stretch out my muscles, cracking the painful knuckles on my hands pointedly, shooting Bob a poisonous scowl as he goes to move forwards, his protective programming kicking in.

"Austin? No, he didn't attack me." I respond tonelessly, going to the table to grab a bottle of water and some bandages.

"Then what happened?" Sarah chips in, following my every move with her eyes.

I look at her and shrug, gesturing to Bob.

"See if he can figure it out." With that, I leave the room, only just catching as the T-800 reveals what happened.

"All injuries were self-inflicted." He reports, solemnly.

"She did that to herself? Why?" John exclaims, turning as the T-1000 in the corner finally speaks up.

"Why do you think?"


	5. Why Are You Flushing So Much?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 🙃

"Hey, could you pass me the spanner, please?" My voice is slightly strained from how I'm bent over the motorcycle, but my request is fulfilled when I feel Austin place the heavy tool into my extended palm, the terminator being particularly careful not to let his fingers brush mine, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Comes the mostly deadpan reply, the quiet clinking of metal tools and objects knocking against each other soon resuming as he carries on with his exploration. 

For a good half hour now we've been like this, falling into a routine of passing each other tools and other items, which I use to repair the bike and he uses to further stimulate the tactile processors in his hands, finding the task oddly soothing to the both of us, who have become even more outcast from the others in the last month or so. It's not the first time we've done this, as we find that working together is fulfilling to the both of us, and is therefore a good thing to do, especially when one of us is in need of an outlet other than physical violence. The other three have learnt to accept it, and they no longer try to interfere, knowing full well that neither Austin nor I would actually continue a conversation with them.

With efficient movements, I tighten the loose bolts just beneath the fuel tank and check how secure the part is, tugging lightly on it to make sure it won't come free when in use. Satisfied, I straighten and go to replace the tool on the workbench where Austin is standing, handing it to him wordlessly. I watch as he feels it over briefly, his slender fingers mapping out each dent and rivet in the old spanner with a critical scrutiny, his perpetually scowling face seemingly intent on what he is doing. He does not seem to notice me watching him at first, not until he comes across what I'm assuming is a particularly interesting part of the object, at which point he starts lifting it to his face, as if to eat it, his eyes suddenly finding mine again, his movements halting abruptly.

We stare at each other for a few seconds, neither of us saying anything, a slight tension beginning to grow between us, before he replaces the spanner on the table and straightens his already impeccable posture, snapping me from whatever haze I got sucked into. Blinking, I look away and go to the bike, pushing it to the side and returning again, intending to wash my hands in the sink in the corner, grabbing a grease cloth off of the floor first, so that I can wipe off any excess oil. As I move past, however, Austin catches hold of me, stopping me in place as I freeze at the potentially hostile action. Hesitantly, I look at him, swallowing when I notice that he has kept direct eye contact with me, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he draws me closer to him.

Once he has me where he wants, he takes my hand in his again and starts running his fingers over my skin, stroking over every line and scar, paying particular attention to the pale markings on my knuckles from my previous encounter with the target. As before, his touch makes me shiver, a breathless noise escaping me at his somehow gentle movements, each brush of his fingers feeling much more like a caress than the last time, as if he is taking his time. He draws his index finger through some of the oil on my palm, inspecting it briefly, retaining any useful information from it, before he suddenly lifts my hand to his face, his tongue dipping out before I can stop it to lick at the greasy substance coating the skin.

In shock, I go to flinch back, surprised rather than repulsed by the action, only for him to hold me in place as he starts licking at the grease, cleaning it off as he processes it, apparently unaware of the effect his ministrations are having on me, the sudden hand on my elbow, holding my arm to him, not helping as he manhandles the limb into the position he wants it. Biting my lip, I try not to groan, somehow enjoying the sensation of the Terminator's tongue on my skin, hissing slightly when he goes to suck a finger into his mouth, this new action too personal for him to be doing with no idea of what it looks like. I pull away from him, looking down at my feet to hide the blush on my cheeks, embarrassed and guilty at making him stop.

"I-I'm sorry, I just, err, that got a little too...intimate there...I, well, i didn't realise you had sensors in your mouth...tactile sensors, that is…" I ramble for a moment, only stopping when he cups my jaw and lifts my head, his eyes scrutinizing my face for information.

"Why are you flushing so much?" He questions, letting go of my chin quickly, as if I shocked him in return.

"Huh? Oh, well, it's just...err, what you did was a bit too intimate for what I was expecting." I clarify, swallowing as I look at him.

"Intimate? In what way?"

I lift an eyebrow at this, cocking my head to the side, almost mimicking how he does it.

"I thought you had files on sexual cues?"

"I do. How is that relevant?" The T-1000 frowns, his gaze going momentarily blank, as if recalling the files he has access to.

"Generally, that sort of action is taken as a sexual cue, of sorts. Many people do it to be seductive." 

Before we can continue the conversation, however, John walks into the room, throwing open the door loudly as he goes to find something, only seeing us at the last second. Eyeing us weirdly, he doesn't say a word, only taking what he needs and sitting on his makeshift bed, messing with whatever it is as he waits for Bob and Sarah to return.

Austin looks at me, as if he wants to ask more questions, but decides against it, and turns away, going to sit in the chair he's set up near my end of the room, his stare going dead as he retreats into his system files, going over them in as much detail as possible.


	6. Required Data

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The T-1000 wants to learn more about the female body.
> 
> A/N: sorry I've taken so long to update this! I hope this was worth the wait!

My entire body aches, sweat covering every inch of me as i step in out of the blazing heat of the day, drawing my hand across my brow to wipe away the perspiration that has gathered there, ignoring the way my clothes are now sticking to my skin, uncaring of whether or not my curves are noticeable to the inhabitants of the warehouse. Slamming the door, I stalk into the room and go straight to my corner, briefly looking up at Uncle Bob and John, who are sat at the table in the middle, as I pass, the T-800’s eyes observing my physical state critically. 

Running a hand through my hair, I go to my bed and pull out the clean clothes from the crate at the end that I want to wear, grabbing a bar of soap and a towel at the same time. Straightening, I roll my shoulders and go to leave the warehouse again, only to stop when I hear someone stand and approach me. Frowning, I turn, expecting to be met by the towering figure of Uncle Bob with some daft question, only to be quietly surprised when I see Austin carefully stepping towards me, his lithe body coming up to stand beside me. His piercing eyes roam over my body in interest as he gestures for me to continue, wordlessly falling into step beside me. I have to fight the urge to acknowledge the blush rising to my cheeks from his gaze, the Terminator having grown on me in recent times much more than I thought he would, despite being fully aware of the fact that he will never be able to reciprocate the feelings I know I have started to develop. 

Slightly confused, I exit the warehouse with him and lead him over to the abandoned worker's quarters, where we have a fully functioning bathroom hooked up, it being one of the first things we secured when we found this place. Pushing open the rusted door, I let Austin through before closing us in, expecting him to wait here as I go to the internal door that leads to the room itself. Another frown pushes at my forehead as I notice him still following, prompting me to stop still and look round at him.

"Why have you stopped?" He questions, head tilting slightly in curiosity, though it is the only indicator I have of his interest.

"I, well, I'm not really sure you should be coming past this point." I try to tell him, thinking over how to put it in my head.

"Why not?"

"Because it's private? I'm not going to shower in my clothes, you know."

"Of course not, that is impractical." Austin blinks, regarding me carefully.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair again.

"Look, I'm going to be naked, and generally that's something I prefer to keep to myself? To preserve my dignity?" I clarify for him, rubbing my temple.

"I am aware of the human need for privacy, but I require data that you alone are able to provide. I must accompany you." He states, holding eye contact with me as I flounder under his insistent gaze.

"Data? What kind of data?" I inquire, suspicious.

"My files are very detailed as to that of male anatomy, yet they lack in that of female anatomy. It would be beneficial to me to obtain more data regarding this topic, and you are the only person in proximity who has a high probability of allowing me to perform the necessary actions. I am awaiting your consent." The T-1000's tone is flat as always, but I've learnt to pick up on his cues: he's just curious.

Eyeing him, I bite my lip momentarily in consideration, before opening the door and motioning him inside. Silent, he follows me, standing in the centre of the bathroom as I go to the toilet and close the lid. Nervously, I fiddle with the hem of my shirt, slowly starting to pull it up over my sweaty stomach, taking it off and dropping it onto the floor, having placed the clean clothes, towel and soap on the toilet seat already. Instantly embarrassed, I turn my back on him, ignoring my instincts as I go to undo my trousers, gasping when I suddenly feel a pair of hands at my waist.

His skin is cool to the touch, each finger pressing against my body as he moulds his palms to me, seemingly feeling over the muscle I have long since developed there. Goosebumps rise on my skin as he steps closer to me, his synthesized breaths fanning out over the back of my neck, the realism of the action so humane that I have to actively remind myself that it's simply an asset that aids in fitting in with his enemy. In unison, each of his hands slowly drags upwards towards my ribcage, probing at my ribs, each sensation drawing small noises from me as I finally acknowledge how long it's been since I had any real contact with people, this new attention stirring up butterflies in my stomach. Seemingly oblivious, he moves higher, his thumbs brushing against the sides of my breasts experimentally, causing me to flinch forwards at the unexpected contact there. As if he understands this, the T-1000 simply moves on, his hands coming up to rest on my shoulders, before one carefully slides up to lightly feel over my throat.

As his forefinger strokes over my jugular, I feel a shiver go down my spine, this new hold much more intimate than it should really be; I should be terrified - he could kill me now without a second thought. He doesn't, his finger instead moving up to trace my jawline, gently turning my head towards him. I twist in his grip to face him, looking up at him in trepidation as his eyes roam over my features even as his fingers do. Caressing each and every part of my countenance, the Terminator takes time to memorize every facet of it, drawing his thumb over my lips with particular emphasis, pulling the lower one down ever so slightly before letting it spring back into place. My breath has caught in my throat, my eyes threatening to fall closed under his gentle touches.

His other hand moves to my back, slowly smoothing over the expanse of muscle as he nears my ass, where he lightly rests his palm. The action makes me jump slightly, especially as his thumb insistently dips into the belt loop near his hand and pulls down on it, attempting to tug my trousers off of me. My jaw clenches at this, caution flaring to life within me at the sudden urgency behind his movements, this new reaction not going unnoticed by him as the finger of his other hand strays over the tensed muscle. In a second, he has pulled away from me, leaving me craving more of his soft touch and almost innocent curiosity.

"I have obtained all necessary data. Thank you." Austin states blankly, though I can see his hands twitching at his sides, clearly wishing that he could continue.

"You're welcome. Anytime." I mutter back, watching as he picks up the soap, a frown coming over his face at the lack of tactile stimulus from the smooth object. As always, with this lack of information, he goes to place it on his tongue, using the more sensitive processors there to find out something from it.

"Don't eat the soap, Austin, it doesn't taste that great." I laugh slightly, taking it from him before he can lick it.

"I have not obtained sufficient data from it." The T-1000 protests, frowning at me.

"I can tell you how it works, if you want, but you don't have to eat it." I smile at him, though it is slightly bitter.

I still wish he'd continue with his ministrations.


	7. You Are Unwell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the slow updates, I don't really get much time to write this sort of stuff these days! I can't promise that I'll be more frequent in updating, but I'll try.  
> This didn't really turn out how I thought it would, but enjoy!

My muscles burn as I power through the sit-ups I've made myself do, gritting my teeth as sweat pours down my brow, ignoring the part of my brain telling me to give up. I've nearly reached my goal, but I'm not finished there: I have a plank and some press-ups still to get through. I'm thankful that John, Bob and Sarah are currently out, finding exercising much more pleasant when it's just me alone in the warehouse. Well, me and Austin, though he never really says much. He just watches.

Even now, I can feel his piercing blue eyes fixed on me, the slender terminator still somehow enraptured by me, despite my generally unimpressive nature. It makes exercising somewhat unnerving, but I soon got used to it, the polyalloy being never making a comment or bringing anything up, unlike Uncle Bob, who had felt the need to correct my every movement when he'd last watched me work out. By the end of it, even Austin had looked irritated, though for him that seems to be his go-to expression, the terminator having mastered it very quickly.

Finishing up my sit-ups, I remain laying on the floor momentarily, catching my breath as my body protests from the rigorous movements it's had to go through in the last half hour. A nausea has set into my head, but I ignore it, chalking it up to the lack of sleep I've had rather than the exercise, closing my eyes against the disorientating effect it has on me when I finally sit up. The room spins a little, blinking doing nothing to offset it as I force myself onto my front, starting the press-ups I still have to do with some hesitancy. Again, my muscles burn, but this time, I find it much harder to lower and raise myself properly without my brain feeling as if it is rotating in my skull, trembling breaking out in my arms as I push through it. 

A hand on my back interrupts me, my fight or flight instincts kicking in as I flinch away, twisting to face whoever has touched me. 

I relax as I realise it's Austin, the T-1000 kneeling down beside me with his hand still outstretched, a cup of water ready in the other. The terminator fixes me with a blue-eyed stare, his expression almost confused under the slight concern, brow furrowed a little as he regards me. I try to return the gaze, but I find myself unable to keep myself upright properly as the dizziness in my head grows. Dark spots appear in my vision, my body swaying dangerously, mind unable to hold onto any composure I had before.

Austin is quick to react, the terminator moving to wrap an arm around my shoulders, holding me steady against him as he waits for me to straighten my thoughts. The grip is reassuring and grounding, the darkness clearing a little from my vision as I lean against him, my breathing heavier than I thought it would be, my head turning to look up at him, finding something almost comforting about being in his hold. From this new position, however, I feel my head start to spin even faster, something not quite right with me: I should've recovered by now.

Wordlessly, Austin adjusts his grip and lifts me into his arms, standing easily despite my weight. Confused, I loosely wrap my arms around his neck, relishing in the feeling of his cool synthesized skin against my heated body, the fabric of his uniform still not quite natural to the touch, but as realistic as he'll ever get it without wearing actual clothes. The T-1000 carries me over to my makeshift bed, gently laying me down on it, expression still nearly blank. When I try to sit upright again, he places a hand on my chest and pushes me back down, brow twitching slightly from the contact, his palm staying against me to make sure I don't try again.

"What are you doing?" I question him faintly, still light-headed.

"You are not well. You have shown several symptoms of illness in the last 43 hours, so it is recommended that you remain in a relaxed state for at least the same amount of time." Austin recites tonelessly, carefully slipping his hand under my shirt onto my upper chest. Instinctively, I flinch away from the touch, trying to bat away his hand, only to find my wrists held away from him in his other fist.

"What are you doing?" I blurt out, writhing slightly to get away from his touch.

"I am taking a reading of your internal temperature. It is currently at 39.12 degrees Celsius and is therefore abnormal. You must remain relaxed and in bed." He reveals, taking away his hand slightly reluctantly, flexing his fingers as he releases my hands.

"What? No, I'm not ill, I just pushed it too hard just now! I'm fine!" Even as I say this, however, I feel a wave of nausea wash over me, my stomach churning.

"Negative. You are unwell." He states, standing up beside my bed and staying there, looking out at the rest of the warehouse.

"Ah, come on!" I growl to myself, knowing he must be right, though his new stance confuses me, "What are you doing?"

"I am ensuring that you are not disturbed in any way. Your recovery is vital." He informs me, glancing at me briefly.

"Vital? Why?" 

He doesn't respond to this, seemingly unwilling to reveal his true motives, instead continuing to stand over me, his body stiffening slightly when the door to the warehouse opens. John, Sarah and Uncle Bob enter, each carrying a bag of supplies, the three of them quickly noticing Austin where he is. Curious, John comes over, seeing me lying in the bed with sweat coating my forehead, my face most likely pale in the bad lighting. His eyes widen as he sees this, though the T-1000 doesn't let him come any closer.

"What happened? Are you ok?" The boy questions, looking me in the eye.

Dryly, I smile back at him, trying to be reassuring despite my current mentality towards him.

"Apparently I'm ill, but I'll be ok." I explain, gesturing to the terminator standing over me.

"Ill? With what?" Sarah asks, coming over with Bob.

"I don't know, he hasn't told me." I shrug, wiping some sweat from my forehead.

"He hasn't?" John looks surprised, glancing up at Austin curiously.

"Nope."

"Let Bob check you out to make sure he's telling the truth." Sarah suddenly tells me, the terminator in question fixing me with a blank stare, as always.

"What? No! Why would he lie about it?" I protest, frowning at her.

"Who knows, but I don't trust him. Let Bob check you." 

Too tired to argue properly, I signal to him to do so, only for Austin to take a more protective stance in front of me, blocking the T-800 off from me. Surprised, I place a hand on the T-1000's back, gently urging him to stand aside.

"It's fine, Austin. Let him do it." I say to him, thankful when the terminator steps aside, though I am surprised that he listened to me.

Swiftly, Bob comes over and leans down, placing a massive hand on my forehead, staying completely still as he performs bodily checks. After a moment, his hand trails to my neck, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake, the fingers wrapping slightly around my throat, leaving me remembering how Austin had done the same to me, back in the shower. Just as the T-800 goes to move lower, however, Austin steps in, taking the cyborg's wrist and jerking it away from me, a scowl on his usually indifferent face. Stepping back, Bob regards the other terminator as he goes to reply, voice as monotone as usual.

"The T-1000 is correct. She is ill, but it is impossible to tell what the illness is without performing more thorough checks." He reveals, looking at me.

"Will it catch?" John asks nervously.

"Unlikely. It does not seem to be a contagious illness."

"Great." Is all Sarah can say as she walks back over to the main area, Bob and John soon following, though the boy shoots me a quick smile first, leaving Austin and I together.

Looking up at him, I cock my head, maintaining eye contact with him.

"You're very protective when you want to be, aren't you?"

Austin says nothing, though he does not move from my side until I fall asleep.


End file.
